The Last Brandy
by LeandroPoblet
Summary: People ask who the Doctor is, I ask who the Brigadier was... This is a short story about the man who really waited.


The Last Brandy

_By Leandro Poblet_

He sat down in his comfy leather chair. It was a cold night but the stars where as bright as the candles he have there. He took his half-drink 1991 brandy and put it in a small round coffee table. Took two glasses and pour the first one. Then, he poured the other one with a smaller amount. Then put the second glass in the other corner near another empty leather chair that looks like the one you always have when you're waiting a guest. But he was waiting one, and one you never know when you'll see him again.

Suddenly a nurse comes. She looks at the other brandy waiting for that guest, in the exact same position as every night. He's lost in the stars as his so called "guest" was up there. He doesn't even care about the brady, he just want to have an excuse to have some hope. Hope that he shall go visit him.

He seem to loved that place. That old-fashioned room more than anything in that nursing home. It was the best place in all the south of England. Not many people could afford to live there, and yet he just spent his days walking by the enormous green gardens cover with the gold and bronze of the autumn's leaves and the nights drinking his brandy while he was waiting for that mysterious man to show up.

That day I felt the need of telling him something. To break the ice and discover who he was. Who that mysterious guest was. All his colleagues and friends have come to see him. But this man was different. Like a traveller of some sort. So I came near him and softly said:

- I don't think he's coming. Not tonight at least... Maybe you should go to bed?

- Nonsense, he's known for being late.

He wasn't any man at all. He was the bravest man I've known. His stories doesn't seem to end and most of them are told by many of his visitors. He is quite reserved about his life. But every time I say that, all of them answer me:

- That's how the Brigadier is.

The Brigadier Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart. He served the world many years working in something called UNIT which none of us have heard before. Many times we've seen him ranting about how bad the current UNIT works and how in his times things were different.

I looked at that empty place and said:

- May I sit until he comes?

- Yes, why not...

He didn't looked pleased with the idea but his affair with the stairs made everything else irrelevant. Sometimes his eyes burst with some of the stars that pass through that window.

- Now, who is this someone you're waiting for?

For the first time he stopped looking at the stars. He took the brandy and took a quick drink to it. Once he put the glass in the wooden cupholder he looked at me in the eyes and said:

- I'm waiting for the Doctor. He's a friend of mine and once you can't never expect.

- If you can't ever expect him, why are you waiting him here?

- Oh, Miss... Excuse me, what's your name again?

- Miss Anna Panekis

- Well Miss Panekis, the Doctor is not like most people. He is not people and sometimes he doesn't know who he is. I have the pleasure to meet him and work with him for more time than I was expecting to.

- And was that good?

- You can't argue that. You'll see, I've met many of the face of the Doctor.

- Now he has many faces?

- I knew you'll never understand that. It's normal if you don't. You'll see the Doctor I've met 50 years ago is not the one that will come here someday.

- Of course. People get old and their faces tend to change with the time.

- But the Doctor is different.

- What's his name anyways?

- We all know him as the Doctor. We never expected him to share his real name.

- You can't actually expected me to believe that!

And he laughed. But not as it is was a joke, he actually mean everything he said and find funny how cynic I was. And then he start telling me long stories about their adventures and how did he always find the Doctor as the most unpredictable man he ever met. I thought I've never believe histories as how he fought against plastic dolls called Autons, metal mechanic human beings called Daleks and a bearded man called The Master. But this things were real, I know he wasn't lying or delirious. What I loved is how this Doctor travelled in a 60's police box which he called TARDIS, and without me even asking all he said was:

- It was bigger on the inside.

And the way his eyes illuminated every time he talked about Liz Shaw, which I spoke when I was a rookie around here. And how he used to have great squad with the Sergeant Benton, one of the man who visited him the most. How he smiled when he mentioned the name Jo Grant, he seemed to also to be in loved with the smile of a girl called Sarah Jane.

And it was 3 in the morning and we where laughing and talking about the Doctor. But my eyes were giving up and I needed to sleep. So I just stand up from the chair that now have my shape in it and quietly said:

- I'm going to sleep and I think you should too.

- It's okay, my dear. I'll go in a minute.

And then I couldn't dream of anything else more than this man with multiple faces practicing venusian karate and using something called "Sonic Screwdriver". The Brigadier was the most amazing man I've met in the five years I've spent in this nursing home. I wanted to wake up and to be night so I could spent another night talking with him.

When I woke up, and went down the stairs my heart stopped when I see that image. The image of the Brigadier Allistair Lethbridge-Stewart in his chair sleeping. He was having the longest dream any men can have: death. And I sat next to him with tears that seemed to never stopped with the surprise of seeing a smile in his face. Maybe our chat last night make him feel accomplished. Maybe this Doctor did visit him. I only know that now nothing can make me stop crying. One talk was enough to make me feel like I knew this man. The brandy was there, intact as I left it. But maybe the Doctor didn't drink. Maybe I was overreacting. I'll never know.

The funeral was a quiet dim afternoon in a beautiful hills near Hampshire called Wiltshire. The green of the fields was now grey to me. The tears where flowing like a river of sadness and sorrow. There they were his old colleagues, his friends and family. I only hoped the Doctor will appear. That's what the Brigadier would want.

All the sudden, before the ceremony began a machinery noise surrounded the hills of Wiltshire. The noise of a machine that no human mind could manipulate or create. And they rise from the hills. Eleven men that without saying a word come up before the ceremony. The first man held a cane with a spiral shape and a falcon claw as the handle. The second one was holding a flute in his hand and a bunch of flowers with the most amazing colours. The third one started taking off his gloves as he kept them in his dark red cape that matched his suit. The fourth man was wearing a scarf that was three times bigger than him in a combination of reds and blues that make it look unique and perfect to hide his sadness. The fifth man seemed to be dressed in the most fashioned way and still couldn't lift his head up and hide the red eyes that are caused by moment his living.

But everyone seemed to be looking at the sixth man, with a clownish dress that make him look distasteful of the entire situation. No, this man was the most serious person I've ever seen. Nothing could make him look ridiculous, his eyes seemed to penetrate me every time he looked at me. The seventh man was walking slowly holding his coloured hat because of the wind this place has. The eighth man was the one who seemed the most intriguing to me. He was wearing some old-fashioned clothes and his curly haired seemed to be messed up because he didn't care at all about his look. The ninth man was wearing an old leather jacket, a jacket that seemed to me that has been in many wars and was a sign of his many years. The tenth man was wearing a black white-striped suit with a blue tie and a rectangular glasses that didn't hide his tears flowing down his face. The last man was wearing a sort of brownish jacket with a silly bow-tie and a carmine suspenders that matched the colour of his bow-tie.

All of them where there from beginning to end. All of them left something in his grave: A pocket watch, a flute, a sort of long metallic stick with a rounded termination, a pack of jelly-babies, some cricket balls, an umbrella, a key, a plastic hand, a pair of 3D glasses and a Stetson hat.

Why couldn't I stop crying? Was the fact that I never imagine to know such an amazing man for only twenty-four hours?

One of them approach to me, put his coat around my back and hug me whispering something to my ear while one of his tears was flowing in my cheek. He whispered something that I'll never forget:

- Thank you for taking care of him...

And then they left without saying a word. and that was the last time I saw the Doctor. And I'll never forget him. And I'll never forget Brigadier Sir Alliston Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart. The Brigadier, our Brigadier, _my Brigadier_.


End file.
